A tumbling waterfall of golden trinkets clattered to the deck as Log placed one large hand on the shopkeep’s countertop and propelled himself faster down the small alleyway between of shopfronts. The soft azure sea of the Exchange’s carpet barely deadened the tinny thunder of ornate (and likely knock-off) tchotchkes as they rolled through the dust left in the ensign’s speedster wake. Nor did it deaden the almost hypersonic screech of the old Bolian woman behind the counter as the flood of gilt knick knacks disappeared beneath the nearby tables, their unexpected break for freedom unfettered by surprised observers.

“You’ll pay for those Starfleet!” She cried after him, levelling a knotted, wrinkled finger at the young man’s back.

“Sorry! Speak to the deck officer!” Log called back, offering an apologetic shrug of his wide shoulders as his legs propelled him down the crisscrossing avenues of the market stalls. Dismissing the blue crone’s now shaking fist his attention returned to the chase as a flash of a delicate silk cloak swung round the corner of the labyrinthine market stalls ahead. His focus renewed, he pushed onward with great leaping steps.

One leap, two leaps and then a skidding right turn as his boots struggled to grip the plush carpet against the force of his stocky body’s momentum. He had seen her, he was sure of it, he recognised her face from the morning briefing.

Three leaps, four leaps and another skidding turn as he came face to face with the looming visage of a Klingon chef, his frowning grimace leering out from the noxious smoke of his pans. Log raised his hands to issue an apology but before his lips could part the Klingon pointed further down the winding path, clearly his quarry wasn’t being subtle either. The young tellerite nodded his thanks and was away again, another explosion of energy from his muscular legs propelling him onwards.

He had first seen her at the central exchange counter, attempting to book passage off the base. A tall Orion with long black hair, and a signature golden piercing through her bottom lip in the shape of a coiled dragon. The woman’s face and her mugshot flashed before his eyes again. He had glimpsed her on his shortcut through the marketplace, the quickest way across the large atrium of Starbase Bravo’s upper decks it also allowed the ensign to enjoy the sights and sounds of their cosmopolitan home. He wouldn’t have given her a second look, had she not smacked the travel agent’s desk loudly as she delivered a string of insults to the poor man in voluminous frustration. It had only been a second but Log had seen the coiled golden dragon resting on her lips, framing her venomous tongue as she chewed out the presumably unhelpful clerk.

She had almost gotaway when she threw her hands in the air in exasperation and walked away from the desk.

She had almost got away when Log reached up to press his comm badge and summon security.

She had almost got away until the young Tellerite had unexpectedly found himself taking several confident steps towards her and reaching out to grab her arm.

Then she ran.

And Log had pursued.

“Log to Security,” he shouted through deep breaths, tapping his badge as he rounded another stall, the light Tholian silk scarves wafting in his wake.

“Yes, Ensign?”

“I require assistance.”

“What is it now? Did you insult the Betazoid diplomats again?” The voice came with a barely audible laugh.

“I am in pursuit of an Orion female,” Log announced to the disembodied joker as he reached out and used a nearby column to correct his path towards the orange coat-tails that whipped into a nearby avenue.

“I don’t need to know about your love life.”

“Escaped! Fugitive!”

Log’s progress suddenly ground to a halt, his heels digging furrows into the sumptuous weave of the carpet as he came to an unexpected stop. At the far end of the narrow corridor formed by the pop-up stalls, the fugitive in question had also halted; trapped in a dead end formed of imported meats and colourful candies. She turned, her calm eyes assessing the confines of the surprise cage, her body tense as a trapped sehlat. Dangerous, unpredictable. Log summoned all his courage and reached out his hand commandingly.

“You can’t get out, Security is on its way. You might as well surrender.”

She raised an eyebrow to heights that would make a Vulcan jealous as a mocking dagger of a smile crept across her face, twisting in jagged lines along her dark lips. The golden dragon flexed, its maw now appearing threateningly toothy. Log’s heart faltered at the sudden realisation he might be too far out of his depth.

“If you come peacefully, I’m sure that’ll work in your favour.” He prayed his voice hadn’t faltered as clearly as it had in his own ears, he could be a big bad security expert for all she knew. He spread his shoulders and flexed his chest confidently, willing his stout body to break the six-foot ceiling. Log, the hand of Starfleet justice, famed hunter of criminals. She didn’t need to know any different. “I could put in a word with the judge for you.”

The dagger of her smile cracked open to reveal a shark-like maw of cruel points; endless rows of white teeth designed to cut and tear, each peak sharper than the last. More cruel and cutting, however, was the shrieking laughter that echoed from behind the legion of razor blades.

“Are Starfleet judges so stupid they take advice from lowly ensigns?” She threw her head back, letting her long hair twist and shake as she crowed with mocking laughter, scraping against Log’s ears like rending metal.

“How…” he reached up to his collar, chastising himself for forgetting he wore his junior status on his neck for all to see.

“Run away back to your engine room little man. Neither of us wants to make you a casualty.” She reached over to the nearby stand, drawing a large knife with slow purpose from the nearby butcher’s block before running her thumb across it threateningly. “I have no desire to go back to that ship or that prison.”

The laughter was gone, taking with it her blood-chilling laughter. Only the cold steel of her eyes remained, reflected in the glinting blade in her hand.

“Log, Security is en route. Hang on.” 

The young man’s heart faltered once more before he was unexpectedly taken over by a wash of steely confidence. A multitude of eyes peeked out from behind cargo crates and through quickly drawn shutters, darting back and forth between the officer and the fugitive. This was the moment, the moment when Starfleet got to prove its worth.

“Understood sir. We’ll be waiting.”